


Separate Ways

by WanderingTiredly



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Dependency, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Mentions canon character death, Post Season 13, Some Characters Just Mentioned, implied Docnut, implied grimmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 06:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15944048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiredly/pseuds/WanderingTiredly
Summary: After the events of Chorus, the Reds and Blues are given the opportunity to return to their homes. Some take it better than others. Especially one Agent Washington, who can't seem to handle the concept of going home.





	Separate Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by PeculiarProjects (bless her heart). I wrote this because I love her. And Tuckington.

It took a long enough time after they called for reinforcements to defeat Hargrove’s forces. Tucker was more exhausted than he had been in a long time. As soon as he fought his way from inside of the ship, he trained the troops with a fierce determination and focus that wasn’t like him--but everyone knew it stemmed from Epsilon giving his life, again.

 

Tucker pushed himself until the war ended. Church chose to die because Tucker wouldn’t have been strong enough to get the troops out without a functioning AI. Tucker knew, realistically, it wasn’t his fault. Despite that, the guilt tore him to pieces. The image of Caboose sobbing in his room, holding his old helmet, looking through old photos. The broken noises from Carolina as she tried to accept that now her father, and practically brother were gone--just like her mother.

 

Tucker couldn’t take it. He would fight with everything he had until Hargrove was apprehended. He spent every waking moment planning what he would say to the bastard as he was sent to prison. His work ethic even concerned Wash, but Wash followed the same lead. Angry for the same reasons, struggling with seeing Blue Team so down again.

 

So when they finally, _finally,_ were allowed by the UNSC and Kimball to go home, when they _finally_ won the war, when they _finally_ got everyone to lay down arms--the Reds and Blues piled on a ship with the destination of home.

 

 _Home,_ Tucker wondered distantly, _was it the same as it once was?_ He didn’t mean Valhalla, he didn’t mean the desert, and he certainly didn’t mean Blood Gulch. He meant back home, in Michigan.

 

The idea wasn’t originally his--he hadn’t known what he planned to do after the war. He was so used to running drills, risking his life, staying up late on his datapad going over resources, planning, strategizing. He was used to waking up in someone else’s room, papers laid about.

 

No, it was actually Donut. The tiny blonde had sighed loudly, one of the first mornings after the war had officially ended, saying, “Man, it’s gonna be so weird going back to the basic farm life. Maybe Doc and I can see if there are any farmers markets that we can sell stuff at!”

 

Sarge looked confused for a moment, “yer’ going back to Iowa? Giving up after the war so easy! By god man, get a hold of yourself!” Though, for a split moment, a homesick look crossed his face.

 

Grif shrugged, “Yeah, well, I’m going back Hawaii. Meet up with Kai, try and settle down.” He lazily glanced at Simmons, “you gonna come with?”

 

Simmons paused, “Well, my dad is--”

 

“Dude, fuck that, you’re coming with me and Kai,” Grif interrupted. Simmons seemed a bit skeptical, but eventually agreed. He actually _did_ want to go with Grif, and he _did_ want to find a place in life to just settle down. Growing old with his best friend wasn’t such a bad way to live out his life.

 

Caboose smiled for the first time in a while. “I’m going to go back to the moon! My sisters are there, we are going to have so much fun! I can braid everyone’s hair again!”

 

Wash approached, glancing at Tucker who kept his head buried in his elbow, breathing softly. “What’re we talking about, guys?” He inquired, hunkering down at the table next to teal soldier. His tray of food kept an arm’s length away from Grif.

 

“Going home.” Tucker murmured, barely audible.

 

Wash smiled. Home, he had decided, was wherever these idiots led him. And now that they were veterans of more than one war, it was obvious to Wash that the next agenda would be to kick back and relax at Valhalla again. “Sounds great, when do we leave?”

 

Caboose hummed happily, spreading sauce on his food, trying to make a smiley face. “Ms. Carolina and her girlfriend said in the next few days! And we get to ride in the mouth of a pelican! I am so excited! I am just like Nemo!”

 

Grif snorted. “Busted, Carolina and Kimball _are_ dating.”

 

Wash rolled his eyes. “Mr. Grif and his boyfriend--”

 

Simmons flushed, “Shut the fuck up! Or do I need to go there?”

 

“Go where?” Wash challenged, with a laugh.

 

“Mr. Tucker and his boyfriend--”

 

Sarge barked out a laugh. “Toasted son! Red team dishes it and takes it!” He stopped abruptly, “Donut, that’s not an invitation to speak.”

 

Donut frowned. “Aww, boo.”

 

Wash was certain he could spend the rest of his life with these morons. The people who accepted him when he was at his worst, the people who encouraged him when he was down, the people who made him laugh when no one else could--yeah, these were his people.

 

\---

 

Loading onto the ship two days later was as eventful of an affair as could be predicted. Tucker was still tired, and was for once, not jumping at the chance to hit on the pilot. He had lost Church again--how many times did that make this?

 

The busty blonde pilot made the first move on him, actually. “Where’s a cutie like you headed to?” She tucked her helmet under her arm, smiling fondly. “After all you’ve done, it doesn’t really matter how far we have to drive you.”

 

Wash walked into the cockpit, adding his input, “Tucker, aren’t we headed to Valhalla?” His tone sounded a bit tired, but he seemed content. He seemed... hopeful, and Tucker would admit that it was a nice look on Wash. Too bad Tucker would destroy it, as he seemed to with everything he touched.

 

“Valhalla? Why would we do that?” The pilot chipped in that they could tell her their destination later, she would just get them out of this side of the system. She gestured for them to go into the back, talk about their plan there.

 

Wash scowled until they sat down. “Where else would we go? Actually, I was on my datapad earlier, apparently there’s a small war brewing on the east of the earth system--”

 

Tucker cocked his head to the side. “Wash, slow down, what are you talking about?”

 

The blonde chuckled, “What do you mean? We won, so we have to go find somewhere to be. So, where are we going next? I should really be prepared.” He picked up his rifle, feeling the normal weight in his hands. It felt like it was meant to be there: Wash could barely remember a time without it. He’d spent so many years just fighting to survive.

 

“Well _I’m_ go to Earth,” Tucker stated, “try and find a place to settle in.” He tried to push the idea a little more, clarifying to Wash that they were done fighting now. They didn’t have wear armor all the time, they didn’t have to shoot guns anymore.

 

“You are? Why? There are battles left to--”

 

Tucker cut in abruptly, “Wash, you can’t really be suggesting we keep doing things, right?” Wash stared blankly, as if Tucker’s words literally didn’t make sense. He looked at Tucker as though he were speaking a foreign language. “We’re done. We won the war. This is where _we_ finally stop.”

 

“Yes?” Wash agreed, and Tucker let himself breathe. “So what?” And just like that, Tucker’s air was gone again.

 

“So go home, Wash. Everything that’s happened so far was us being pushed into circumstance. We don’t need to put off going home anymore. Grif is going to Hawaii with Simmons, Caboose is going to the moon, Donut’s going back to farming, maybe bringing Doc. Even Sarge is headed back to Georgia, probably to try and gather himself.” Tucker explained slowly, feeling genuinely bad for Wash. The man was so ingrained in the lifestyle, he couldn’t understand how to take a break.

 

Wash scratched the back of his head, wanting his helmet. It masked his emotions, it protected him in every possible way. He felt naked without it: he couldn’t imagine going without armor in general. That couldn’t be what Tucker was suggesting, right? “I... see. Where are _we_ going?”

 

“Well, _I’m_ going to Michigan. Where’s your family from? You should start there.” Tucker suggested, trying to ignore the desperate and confused look in Wash’s eyes.

 

“Go there.” Wash repeated, slowly, testing the words out.

 

Tucker nodded. “Yes, go home.”

 

Wash swallowed. “Without... you. Without all of you. Without... an objective.”

 

Tucker shrugged, “Yeah? I guess?” He tried to sympathize, placing a hand on Wash’s shoulder.

 

“Alone.” Wash clarified. He couldn’t imagine it. The whole time, he fought being alone. He couldn’t bear to be alone with his jumble of thoughts, alone with the nightmare that would plague him at night. He didn’t want to be. That’s why he refused prison. That’s why he hated the solitary confinement Freelancer put him in after Epsilon. That’s why after Church went into the memory unit, he struggled with the indifference of the Reds and Blues.

 

Tucker sighed, “I suppose, you would be alone, but there’s countless people out there.” Tucker missed home. He could barely picture it now: a populated town, the small apartment he bummed in, the groups of friends he had, the local joints he would frequent.

 

“Tucker, I don’t really remember where my home was. I have memories of the Director’s, and even Carolina’s but...” he sucked in a breath, “I don’t know a home that’s not with you guys.”

 

Tucker ran a hand through his dreads. “I’m confused, Wash. You did know that eventually things would wind down, right? I mean, you must have had hope that we’d win the war and go home?”

 

Wash glanced away, almost looking sheepish. “I had hope we would win, but not to go home. I just wanted Hargrove dead for everything he did to me, to my friends... to what he would do to you guys.” He bit his lip. “I never thought about it really being over, I guess.”

 

“Well, I did. I dreamt about buying a place with my kid, marrying some hot chick--” he missed Wash’s wince, “letting it all go.”

 

“Some of us aren’t made for that, I guess.” Wash settled on. “Well, if I go somewhere, I guess I should be honest and upfront. Say all my secrets.” Tucker laughed, hoping that the hard part of the conversation was over. Wash seemed to be coming to terms with the idea.

 

“I doubt you have any secrets after all this time.” Tucker joked.

 

Wash blinked, “Maybe just one.” He placed his hand over Tucker’s. “Since we were separated, during the civil war... Tucker, I realized I loved you. You have grown into a leader, you were strong--bold and reckless--but you have grown into a great man.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Thank you, for everything.”

 

Tucker scowled, not moving his hand from the weight on it. Vulnerability flashing across his features. “You... love me?”

 

“I know I should’ve kept it to myself.” He went to move his hand away, obviously disappointed. Of course, Tucker wouldn’t feel the same. He’d known it for a long time, he’d even expected it. Tucker was best known for flirting around and chasing every available woman. “But I wanted you to know.”

 

“And, you’re not going to leave? Find something... better?” Tucker muttered softly, catching Wash’s hand. “That seems to be all people have in store for me.”

 

“No, Tucker, of course not!” The blonde hastily assured. Tucker tightened his fingers. “Is this because--”

 

“Don’t.” Tucker stopped him short, he didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to mention that he felt abandoned, to bring up that he missed his best friend who continuously left, or eventually, just died. That everyone doubted his capabilities as not only a soldier, but just as a man. “Please.”

 

Wash gripped his hand back. “Okay.”                                     

 

Within seconds, Wash’s world was dark. A pair of large hands were cupping his face, and a mouth was crashing onto his. Wash frantically tried to figure out where to place his own hands, how to process what was happening, what was Tucker doing? Tucker didn’t want him.

 

But, if this was the last time they would see each other, then maybe Wash could keep himself from feeling guilty about how he leaned into the touch. How he pressed into the other’s mans hands, resting his hands on Tucker’s strong forearms.

 

Tucker pulled back. “You are the biggest idiot I know, Wash.”

 

In his normal fashion, Wash responded, “That’s a pretty direct insult, considering your teammates.” Wash smiled, and Tucker’s heart pounded in his chest. Saliva gleamed on Wash’s lips, which were red from Tucker’s assault.

 

Wash, the hardass, the soldier, Mr. No Emotion, loved him. Saw something in him. Didn’t want to let Tucker go, and he was the first to feel this way, Tucker would say that for sure--and really from there, it didn't take Tucker much to realize, he didn’t want to let him go either.

 

He thought about Michigan, how he would be sitting in a dingy apartment, working a dead end job, trying to live a normal life again. A life that was lonely. Because Junior wouldn’t be home all the time. Tucker didn’t know his old friends, Tucker hadn’t visited any of his familiar places--places that were likely gone, no less--Tucker had nothing there that could be better than what he had now.

 

Sure, war torn, broken, idiotic friends were what he had, but that’s what he _had_. He wouldn’t trade that. And it was clear Wash felt the same way.

 

Wash’s heart throbbed, his fingers gripped Tucker so tightly, afraid that if he let go, Tucker would leave. Would Tucker stay with him? Did Tucker still want to go their separate ways? Life would be so empty without the Reds and Blues.

 

“I don’t think I want to go home,”  Tucker said, breathless.

 

Wash stared into his eyes, his face had never been closer. Tucker’s irises were so gorgeous. A deep brown, smooth like liquid chocolate. “I don’t want you to go home, either.”

 

“We should talk to the team. Maybe there’s something we can do to stick together. I don’t think we’re made for anyone else.” Tucker told him, decidedly.

 

Wash beamed. “I’d have to agree with you there. I don’t think I’m made for anyone else.” Tucker grinned, and leaned into capture Wash’s lips another time. This time, though, was gentle and everything that Wash could hope for. Tucker was so warm; he would be sure to never forget that.

 

“Let’s go make our own home.”

 

Wash and Tucker would both tell you, this was much better than going their separate ways.


End file.
